


Domus

by sellswordking



Series: Monstrom [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blink And You Miss It Slash, Kid Fic, M/M, Monsters, tiny bit of underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 11:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sellswordking/pseuds/sellswordking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg can't handle these people, but luckily, he never has to do it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domus

**Author's Note:**

> Second in the Monstrom series.

Greg slammed the door to his room and nearly broke his stereo with how hard he hit the button to turn it on. The instant sound of loud music would drown out whatever of his frustrated screaming couldn’t be hidden in the pillow he’d shoved his face into. It had been too much today, far too much to ask that they ignore him, that they pretend he didn’t exist. Julie and her husband had too much to worry about in their real lives to think about the brat they were saddled with, but their sons were young enough not to be distracted by things as petty as work. They beat and berated, and when they couldn’t be bothered to do that, they just took or trashed something Greg loved. That bike had been the only way he’d gotten around—he could still see Nick behind his eyes, pushing the frame next to the rubbish as the truck approached. They’d popped the wheels and taken the chain and wouldn’t tell Greg where it was.  
  
There was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to set the house on fire and take all the bastards in it with him.  
  
“Now, Gregory. Indulging these moods is entirely unhelpful.” Hearing the calm voice even over his mind numbing noise, Greg pulled his face up from where he’d been trying to hide his tears and grinned. The dark grey figure sitting in the shadow at the far corner of his room was an almost instant comfort, despite the way the air shifted and seemed to thin almost, like it couldn’t contain what was now in his room. When it saw his bright grin, the creature showed its dazzling fangs in return, and all of the tension drained from the boy. “Mycroft.”  
  
Greg rushed, nearly tripping over his rugby ball to switch off the lights in the room, well used to the creature's sensitivity. His friend had its own kind of light, keeping itself in Greg’s sight as it moved closer.  
  
The embrace was light, like someone pulled silk over his skin, and Greg was more grateful for it than he thought anyone would ever know. It was hard to breathe when Mycroft was near him, but he’d gladly labor through for just the few moments of comfort the creature provided him with. “I hate it here so much, Mycroft.” It wasn’t a whine, not quite—Greg never  whined —he was just helplessly stating facts. The creature, his  friend , his  only friend, wrapped around him tighter, clawed fingers pressing into the back of his neck.  
  
“I know, my dear Gregory.” As soon as he said the words, the moment of comfort lifted and Mycroft pulled away from the boy, his bright blue eyes glowing with what any human might have called  joy . “But you know what happens at midnight.” For a moment, Greg was confused. He looked at the clock, noting it was fifteen minutes away from that particular time. “…It becomes tomorrow?” However, the boy caught on quickly when Mycroft tilted slightly. “Oh! My birthday!” It was something he had never drawn attention to, not in  years , and Greg frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”  
  
Mycroft moved across the floor in a smooth gliding motion, over to the box that Greg kept hidden in the bottom drawer of his dresser. The boy opened it for him and pulled out the old wooden chest, small and entirely full. He opened the lid and held it out for the creature, watching curiously thought he’d seen his friend do this a number of times. Mycroft picked out the rather large shell of a shotgun that Greg had found in an ally two days ago, and made it disappear right in front of the boy’s eyes. “What birthday will you be celebrating?” Mycroft asked softly, eyes focused on the box as Greg set it on his bed.  
  
“Eleventh.” Mycroft had known, surely, Greg thought, because the creature was the only one to spend his birthday with him in three years.  
  
“ Yes .” Greg then noticed the odd way that Mycroft seemed to be shifting. The way the air began to crackle and electrify. It’s eyes tilted from side to side as if to see from different angles; as if it could not have been more pleased with the answer it was given. “What a special age, my dear, what fortuitous timing. You are tired of these others that you live with?” Without hesitating for a moment, Greg nodded. He didn’t trust himself to keep from saying something stupid as he hoped with all his heart he knew where Mycroft was leading him. “And there is nothing you would wish to stay for?”  
  
There was hesitation this time.  
  
Greg thought of his mates – no, they wouldn’t even notice he was gone.  
  
He thought of school – no, he’d barely been doing the work anyway, and none of his teachers would care.  
  
He barely bothered to think about the people fostering him. They were just as eager to be rid of Greg as Greg was them.  
  
He thought of John.  That made him stop. Little seven year old John, just a bike ride away at the park where Greg stayed some nights if he couldn’t stand the thought of coming home. Sweet as sunshine and too smart for his own good, without a friend in the world but Greg and some boy in his class. Greg thought of the kid as a younger brother, even though John already had a sister who was older than Greg. She didn’t seem that interested in her baby brother, though, not like Greg had been.  
  
A very large part of him didn’t want to leave John alone. An even larger, selfish part, wondered if he could take John with him. But, no, just because they quarreled didn’t mean John’s sister didn’t love him, and even if she didn’t, John still had both of  his parents, and they loved him. Greg wouldn’t take him away from that. No, John would be fine. In a few years, he wouldn’t even remember his old friend Greg.  
  
“Nope. Nothing.”  
  
Mycroft pulled out the shell casing of a .22 that Greg found ages ago, twisting the small bit of metal through claws once, twice, and the dull bronze of it was replaced with the same gray color of his friend. The creature came closer, forcing Greg to bend his neck back to see those brilliant eyes that were turning more silver than blue. The bent top of the shell bit into the boys’ lips before he finally opened them and let the creature place it on his tongue.  
  
He was prepared for it to hurt when he tried to swallow, but the dull side of those sharp fingers pressed against Greg’s throat and after a few tries, he managed to get it down.  
  
Just as the world began to go dark, Greg felt the familiar, comforting sting of teeth in his shoulder, and finally let himself feel  safe .


End file.
